Nathon Thalion: Lothiriel's Story
by glass wings 0
Summary: The story of Lothiriel, the daughter of Prince Imrahil- her hatred for her father and exile from her country, an unlikely friendship with a messenger, and how she unwillingly falls in love as she desperately struggles to remain strong.
1. The Princess

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whoever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

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Title: Lothiriel is the working title. Am trying to think of something a bit more... interesting? Ideas appreciated, why don't you tell me in your REVIEW? That was a hint, so take it. 

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Chapter 1- The Princess

Lothiriel unsheathed her father's long, gleaming sword. She allowed herself a sardonic smile, sliding the flat edge of the sword meticulously into position against her throat. 'To Mordor with them all.' she thought bitterly, 'That is where they will find themselves. There is no hope, and I would sooner kill myself than become a slave.' 

She gripped tight, turned the blade towards her neck and pressed. It bit into the skin, but she did not cry out- the daughter of kings and warriors, no one had ever seen her express fear. Just a few more seconds and it would be over. But no.

"Lothiriel, please remove yourself from my sword."

The princess cursed to herself. Not now. If there was ever a time she wanted to see her father, now was not it. The sword clattered to the ground and Lothiriel raised hate-filled eyes to the man standing in the doorway of her chamber. She almost spat out the words. "As if it was ever a concern of yours whether I lived or died, Father."-making the name she gave him sound like the bitterest of titles.

Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, one of the most powerful men in Middle-Earth, descendent of Nimrodel, a warrior, last child of a line of kings, looked down at his daughter. There was pain in his eyes. "Daughter, why do you speak so to me?"

Lothiriel did not bother to keep the hatred from her voice. "To start, you killed my mother. You sent me to the Elves for fifteen years. You brought me back from the place and people I loved only when you decided you needed someone to run your household. You took away my life bit by bit, sire. Now let me finish the job for you, before my mother's fate befalls me."

Her words hit the prince like a spear to the chest. He knew that she blamed him for her mother's death; yes, he had sent her away; he had brought her back only four years ago when he realized his mistake. The woman before him was the image of her mother: golden and tall with grey eyes and beauty so sharp and defined that it was almost painful to look upon. But where her mother had been soft and gentle, Lothiriel was hard and cold; a warrior and not a princess; practically born with a blade in her hand. As the Elves of Lothlorien told him, at the age of thirteen she had perfected her techniques of sword-fighting. Now, at nineteen, she was the wonder of Dol Amroth: this princess that would not take servants, that could be seen on the castle grounds galloping at a great pace on one of her father's horses, with a sword in one hand and a bow in the other. Suitors were laughed at and bidden to 'run along.'

Imrahil looked at her with sorrow. The closest thing to having her mother back was having Lothiriel with him, but she had never outgrown the hatred she felt for the man who caused her mother's death. As if it didn't haunt him every day of his life, the princess took an almost sadistic pleasure in reminding him.

He spoke. "I am becoming reconciled to the fact that you will never forgive me nor respect me, daughter, but it remains to you to live a full life. If we triumph over the Shadow, you could be one of the greatest women in the land. Stay away from my weapons; you must hold our people up when I leave."

"You couldn't triumph. No one can. I _will not_ live to become a slave of some minion of the Dark Lord."

"We shall defeat him yet. I leave tomorrow for Minas Tirith, where the greatest names in the land now gather against Sauron. Another reason for your life, Lothiriel: You must keep Dol Amroth against my return."

"Folly. Believe what you will, sire, but I've accepted the truth," she almost succeeded in keeping the smug tone from her voice. "and I refuse to watch Middle-Earth fall."

A faint suspicion clouded Imrahil's mind. This sounded familiar. "Have you communicated with Denethor recently?"

"I have not." 

Imrahil narrowed his eyes. "Do not bring the cynicism of my cousin to this realm, Lothiriel. We may fail. But then again, we may not, and to that end you would be better off giving me my sword back."

Setting her face into a resigned mask, the princess stood, presented her father with his sword. "_Nathon thalion_," she intoned clearly in Sindarin, her first language since living with the Elves most of her life. "I will be strong."

But as soon as he left the room, she leaned against the wall and slid to the cold stone floor. 'Now what?' she wondered darkly before falling into a deep sleep.

***

Review. Please? I promise to return the favor.


	2. The Best Friend

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't own Guthlaf either. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whoever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

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Title: Lothiriel is the working title. Am trying to think of something a bit more... interesting? Ideas appreciated.

***

Chapter 2- The Best Friend

  
  
When Lothiriel woke up, she found herself curled on the stone floor of her chambers. She stretched and climbed to her feet, listening for the noise that had woken her up. There it was again! She turned on her heel and saw the pebbles strike her window before falling to the ground three stories below. Only one person had the nerve and sheer cheek to throw gravel on the Princess of Dol Amroth's chamber window. She almost fell over in her hurry to open it.

"Guthlaf!"

The broad, dark-haired young man looked up, squinting against the setting sun. "Loth? Is that you? What are you waiting for- get down here!"

The princess' mad dash down the stairs threw the chambers below her into disarray. The servants opened their mouths to complain, but thought better of it when they saw the prince's daughter. Lothiriel, totally oblivious to the mess she had caused, threw herself into the arms of her best friend.  
"By the Valar, Guth, I missed you," she breathed against his chest, ignoring the shocked looks the maids gave her. Their princess, in the arms of a messenger from Rohan? She increased their dismay by kissing him on the   
cheek as they strode off arm-in-arm.  
  
***  
  
"How are they treating you here, Loth?" asked Guthlaf, who had been quick to notice the dark circles under her eyes and the excessive thinness of her waist, but had not commented at first. "You don't look like you're sleeping much- or eating much, either, for that matter."  
Lothiriel kept her eyes on the path. She spoke carefully, but there was a hard edge to her voice that hadn't been there until recently. "They treat me... like a princess."  
"It's that bad?"  
"Worse."  
They walked in silence for a little while, with Lothiriel thinking and Guthlaf waiting. As usual, she told him everything at once, in a burst of emotions that she never let anyone else see.  
"He's always there, Guthlaf. Trying to make me love him one moment, and rebuking me the next. He killed my mother, Guth, _killed_ her, and he expects me to forgive him. I'm so sick of his overbearing airs and his orders. Just this morning he told me I had to 'rule Dol Amroth in his stead' and made me feel like I was deserting my people by…"  
She stopped there and avoided Guthlaf's eyes. Her cheeks flushed and she muttered, "That's not the point."  
'I'm not so easily fooled, love' he thought, and said "By what?"  
"Nothing."  
"By. What."  
There was no arguing when he got that tone to his voice. She met his gaze squarely and said defiantly, "By slicing my head off with his sword."  
Guthlaf winced at the harsh voice and pulled her in to hug him. "Oh, Lothiriel."  
For the first time in months and months, she was sobbing into his shoulder. "Guth, our times are coming to an end. The Shadow is stretching further and further. It won't be much longer before he reaches us all. I cannot bear to see the world when that happens. I want to be dead. The Prince's manner helps not at all, either… he thinks he can just go to Minas Tirith and charge at the head of some army and defeat the Dark Lord. And the worst part is, he gets to go do it, while I sit in a castle and look over the kingdom, going insane with lack of news."  
The messenger of Rohan spoke slowly, knowing that she would not like his next words. "But I'll think of you when I go with them, Loth."  
He was right. She pulled back, her tear-stained face narrowing in comprehension. "Go _with_ them."  
Guthlaf sighed. "King Theoden... his standard carrier was killed three days ago... This is my last trip as the army's messenger."  
"And your new job is to carry the king's standard in battle." It was not a question. Lothiriel was familiar with the hierarchy in the Rohorrim.  
"It's an honorable position, and one I am glad to have."  
"It's terribly hard to defend yourself in battle with a great banner in your hand!"  
He opened his mouth, but couldn't think of anything to say. "Loth... you know I love you. As my best friend," he added hastily at the look on her face. He knew to whom her heart belonged, and wasn't about to go _there_. "I know it kills you to stay here. But there is nothing to be done about it. I have to go. Your father has to go. But you have to stay."  
He was expecting her to fly into a rage, or draw blade, or hit him. But she just stared darkly at her hands, not trusting herself to look at him. As a rule, Lothiriel did not cry. Lothiriel did not get upset, or angry, or happy, or afraid. Guthlaf, her best friend, was the only one she had ever really trusted enough to confide in.  
Well, almost the only one.  
'_Don't_,' she thought to herself. Now was not the time or place to think about _him_.  
She forced herself to look up. For the first time, she noticed how far they had actually gone into the forest. And the sun had set hours ago.

Her best friend was noticing the same thing. "We're going to have to camp here tonight."  
Lothiriel laughed humorlessly. "My father is not going to be pleased tomorrow."  
Prince Imrahil had never approved of his daughter's friendship with King Theoden's messenger boy. She knew that he was secretly afraid that they were in love, and would elope if they got half the chance. He needn't have worried. The princess and the king's page loved each other, but they would never be in love. And what was more, they were both wise enough to know the difference.

***  
  
That night, as Lothiriel lay asleep in the light of the fire, Guthlaf reached out and stroked her long, golden hair. "If only she could understand," he said aloud to himself, "that it wasn't the prince's fault. And if only she could show all the rest of them the part of her she shows me. How much better it could be for her!"  
But the princess was as hard and cold to the rest of Dol Amroth as she was to her father. And it would take a long time and a remarkable series of events to change that.  



	3. The Dreams, part one

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, Guthlaf, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whoever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?  
  
**Title**: _Nathon Thalion_: Lothiriel's Story is the new title. The significance of "_Nathon thalion_" (Sindarin) will be explained in this chapter.  
  
**A/N**: For those of you whose IQs are dwarfed by your shoe sizes... dreams, flashbacks and the like will be represented by italics. In these circumstances, they're dreams.

  
  
***  


  
Chapter 3- The Dreams (part one)  
  
  
_Lothiriel ran barefoot through the shadows cast by the mallorn trees. Eyes blinded by tears, she cast herself onto the grass at the top of Cerin Amroth and sobbed as though her heart would break. News had come from Dol Amroth; her father wanted her back to his realm before the year's end. The journey would take months, and it had been decided that she would leave in seven days. Lothlorien would be her home no longer._

  
She jumped to her feet, hearing footsteps behind her. Before she could cry out, a pair of strong arms enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. Her tall, lean lover grinned down into the princess' face, overjoyed to see her after their six month's separation. The beaming smile turned to a puzzled frown at the sight of her tear-stained face.

  
"Lothiriel! What in the name of Mirkwood has happened?"

  
Stifling her tears, Loth leaned against his comforting warmth. Her voice came muffled from somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. "He's sent for me."

  
Her lover blanched. "The prince? He wants you to go back?"

  
She nodded. "I leave seven days from now."

  
He pulled her down into a sitting position on the grass. He looked her in the eye, and his voice was dark and troubled. "My journeys do not take me to Dol Amroth. You know that, lass."

  
"I do."

  
"We will not see each other for a long time. There are rumors, Loth, of a shadow and a threat that will not be ignored much longer. If you go away now, we may not meet again, ever."

  
Lothiriel turned away, trying unsuccessfully not to cry again. "If that is our fate," she said, attempting to sound level and calm, "then I will accept it."

  
"It cannot be our fate. And if it is, then it will have to be changed. I'll come for you, love. In a year, or twenty, it doesn't matter. I'll come and get you eventually, so you had well be ready for me."

  
Lothiriel gave a glad sob and hugged him harder than she ever had before. "Nathon thalion_," she murmured. He pulled back and cupped her chin, drawing her face toward his in a gentle kiss that was made perfect by the moonlight, the stars and the love that surrounded them unbroken._

***  
  
Loth woke up to see only the forest, a crackling fire and her sleeping friend. She sternly kept down the tears that welled up in her eyes. Too much crying for one day, especially for a girl known to be cold and hard to all around her. Just as sternly, she banished the thoughts of him from her mind. It had been four years since the night on Cerin Amroth when he promised to come for her, and neither word nor sight of him had she had since then. She remained steady in her belief that he would come one day. But until then, no emotions could show; no one except Guthlaf could know of his existence. She had to remain strong.

  
"_Nathon thalion_," she whispered. Through the years, it had echoed in her mind like an endless refrain whenever she felt the urge to give in to her feelings. Nathon thalion. I will be strong.

  
The princess lay back down to sleep, unaware that several miles behind her, back at the castle, her father was dreaming too.  



	4. The Dreams, part two

Chapter 4- The Dreams (part two)  
  
  
_"Come ahead, Father, we found it!"_

  
Imrahil's small daughter clutched him by the hand and pulled him with her. No one was around to see, so the Prince laughed and ran ahead with the little girl, ducking the tree branches that she passed under with several feet to spare. They burst out of the wood into a clearing, and Imrahil looked about him.

  
A swiftly-flowing stream cut across a corner of the place. There was green all around them ,except for the sand on the bank. Walking towards them, a lovely woman held out her hand to him, but he disregarded it and took her into his arms. 

  
"Miriel," he said pleasantly, "how nice to see you here. But what would people think if they saw the Princess of Dol Amroth having a picnic in the woods like a child?"

  
"They would think less of the Princess having fun than of the Prince doing the same thing," his wife replied, with a smile in her eyes. "Husband, ruling the kingdom is an important task, but you very much deserve to set aside one day for your family."

  
"You're right, of course," he said gratefully. He didn't like to admit it, but his recently acquired duties as the sole ruler of his homeland had begun to take their toll on Imrahil. He had found that there was a lot more to being a king than meets the eye- for though he kept his title of Prince and refused to take a crown, he was in essence the king of Dol Amroth and Belfalas now

.  
Pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind, the Prince concentrated on being with his family. His young daughter, Lothiriel, would be as beautiful as her mother one day, he concluded. She was now running about the clearing, picking flowers and weaving them into a crown. Miriel had chosen her name well. Lothiriel- "flower-garlanded maiden" in Sindarin- was almost never seen without a bouquet in her hands and a flower behind each ear.They ate by the stream, laughing and playing childish games. They looked like absolute fools, but didn't care a bit. The daylight was waning by the time they set out back to the castle, Imrahil and Miriel arm in arm while their daughter skipped ahead, singing.

  
Then Imrahil's life fell apart.

  
His wife suddenly threw an arm out, stopping him from taking another step. Directly where his foot would have gone was the head of a charachalion. The strongest, most deadly viper in the kingdom. The thing coiled and hissed, moving its head from side to side. Imrahil looked at his wife. Her eyes were large as saucers and terrified.  
"On my mark, we both step back," he said, keeping his voice low. "And mark..." they retreated slowly until they were several yards away from the snake.

  
Imrahil turned and hugged Miriel tightly. "That was close," he breathed in her ear. She nodded and then saw something over his shoulder that made her scream,

  
"Imrahil, LOOK OUT_!"_

  
and then she was lying on the ground, having fallen when she pushed him out of the way. The charachalion's mate slithered away into the woods. The prince leaped to his feet, knelt on the ground beside her.

  
"I took it," she whispered, her eyes rolling back into her head. "I love you."

  
His eyes traveled to her wrist and saw the bite mark, which was turning purple already. She had pushed him aside, and when she was falling the snake had lashed out at the place that had moments ago been occupied by Imrahil's ankle. Miriel had taken the bite meant for him. And now she would die of it.

  
"No," he whispered, "no, no, no, no, no..." and he gathered her up in his arms. "I love you more than life, Miriel, don't leave, it was meant for me and it should have been me..."

  
"Namarie, love." she whispered, and her chest rose and fell for the last time. The starry grey eyes he had fallen in love with closed, and the Princess of Dol Amroth passed away.

  
Imrahil tried to choke back the sobs as tears traced their way down his face. He kissed his wife on the lips. But nothing would bring her back. Lothiriel, still singing, ran back towards them. When she was close enough   
to see, she stopped, confused. "What's wrong with Mother?"

Imrahil spoke the words that he would many times regret, the words that made his daughter hate him. "She's dead, and it's my fault."

***  
  
Prince Imrahil woke up with tears on his face for the millionth time in nineteen years. This dream would never leave him alone, not while he lived and his daughter still hated him. By the Valar, she would always hate him, he realized. It was ruining his life, to have his one link to Miriel despise him like this.

  
'I'm her father!' he reasoned with himself, slamming his fist down. 'She can't hate me completely.' But he knew she could.

  
'I'll make her love me,' he thought forcefully. 'I'll explain everything. If she's anything like her mother at all she'll forgive me."

  
Resolute and not caring that it was the middle of the night, he threw on a robe and walked to his daughter's chamber. He'd tell her all and beg for forgiveness. Maybe then they could both have peace.  



	5. The Stranger

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, Guthlaf, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whoever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

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A/N: I meant to have this up earlier, I really did. But about three weeks ago my computer went all screwball on me and crashed. It's taken forever to reinstall everything, just got the Net back this week. Chapter 6 will not take as long. It's about half finished and will be up next week- PROMISE. Thank you.

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Chapter 5- The Stranger

For Oracle, in the hope that she may forgive my slowness in posting it

Lothiriel awoke in the darkness to the sound of Guthlaf's voice. He was singing words the princess did not understand in the rolling, melodious language of the Rohorrim. She lay there for a moment, confused, until it dawned on her where they were. She stretched and stood up.

Guthlaf turned around and saw that she had awoken. He stopped his song and grinned at her.

"Decided to sleep in, Loth?"

"It's not yet dawn!"

Guth shouldered his pack and held out his hand to her. "True," he said, "but it's a long way back to the castle, and I would rather not see your father's reaction should he find out that you and I didn't return last night."

He was, of course, right. If Prince Imrahil had any reason to suspect that his daughter and the messenger were more than friends, it could turn very ugly indeed.

So she took his hand and they set back the way they had come, towards the castle. They talked as they strode, telling each other of everything that had happened in their respective countries since the last time they had met.

At one point, Lothiriel interrupted her friend's account of Rohan to say something that had been bothering her since the night before.

"Guthlaf, I'm sorry."

He stole a sidelong glance at her and saw that her cheeks were red and she wouldn't look at him, hating to put her pride away.

"Sorry for what, lass?" Though it was not really appropriate to speak with such familiarity to a princess, Guth couldn't help it sometimes. For all her strength and pride, he still saw her as a younger sister who he wanted to protect.

"For crying and carrying on last night. It was… unlike me, to become so passionate about anything. I'll not get carried away like that again."

The messenger felt a stab of sympathy. It wasn't natural, that she should feel so much guilt and embarrassment for something as innocent as telling him her troubles. Impulsively, he stopped and pulled her in for a hug. "Don't _be_ sorry, Loth," he told her, pulling back and looking her in the eye. "You can tell me anything you want to. I'll always be there for you, dearest friend."

"But will you?" she said, half to herself.

"I'd never desert you."

"That's not what I meant. I know you wouldn't. But with your new duties, you'll be near the front of King Theoden's army. Right in the thick of battle. It will be so hard to fight while holding that great banner. I just… I'm just worried for you."

Guthlaf sighed. "I don't know what to say, love. We'll just have to trust in my sword and the good will of the fates. But were I about to be overcome, the thought of leaving you would give me new strength. I promise, Lothiriel, I'll be as careful as I can."

He took her arm again and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

***

The sun was just rising when they arrived back at the castle.

"Oh, I hope no one has discovered we're gone yet…" Lothiriel muttered.

"I'll go up with you," said Guthlaf, in equally heavy tones. "If they have, they'll want an explanation. And if they haven't, I can go out the window again."

"Thank you," the princess sighed, not much relieved. If they had been discovered missing, her father would doubtless jump to conclusions. There would be no convincing him that he was wrong, and Guth's presence probably wouldn't help either.

They went on towards the smaller, kitchen door, careful to stay quiet. They were less than fifty yards away when the sound of hooves was heard in the distance. Guthlaf tugged Lothiriel behind a nearby tree before the horse and rider could come into view.

A lone horseman appeared on the path, riding towards the large front entrance. Lothiriel, who thought she knew of all the messengers who came to her father from foreign lands, did not recognize this man. He sat proud and tall in the saddle, with an air about him that clearly told her that this was no messenger come to her father, no king's page or errand boy. There was something about him that set him apart from all those.

But aside from that, she realized, he was heading towards the front gate. If he got there, he would announce himself and her father would doubtless come out to greet him. Though she was behind a tree, her dress was blue and yellow and she didn't exactly blend in. If the rider reached the castle, she and Guth would be discovered.

It seemed that the same thought had occurred to her best friend, because when Loth looked back to tell him this, there was no one beside her. Guthlaf was already leaping towards the horseman, to head him off and beg him to wait until she had spirited herself back upstairs. At least, this was what Lothiriel assumed he was doing. But why, then, was he smiling so broadly? Little knowing what else to do, she followed him towards the stranger.

Very surprised she was when, upon Guthlaf's reaching the rider, he dismounted and grabbed her friend into a rough, back-slapping hug. Confused and ill at ease, Lothiriel stood by until they had finished greeting each other like brothers or old friends- 'very _good_ friends,' she thought a little jealously. Finally, the stranger noticed her and cleared his throat. Guthlaf stepped back, and Lothiriel got her first clear view of the rider.

The princess had fancied herself quite tall, but he was easily a head above her. He wore armor and good clothing, but it did little to hide the fact that he was more muscular than any young man she had seen in Dol Amroth. He had removed his helm, and her eyes traveled over his face, taking in fair hair and handsome- yes, almost unbearably handsome features. Their gazes locked, and she was taken off guard by his deep brown eyes, wearing an expression that she could not read. She started when Guth's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Lord," he was saying, "this is Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, the prince's daughter."

The stranger bowed. As soon as they broke eye contact, Loth came to her senses. She shook herself out of her reverie and set her face into the mask it was accustomed to wearing. It was one thing when she was with Guthlaf, but to the rest of the world she had to remain as hard as rock, as strong as iron, as cold as ice. The ice princess of Dol Amroth, that is what she was. And she would keep that image. No matter _how_ handsome the stranger was. 


	6. The Decision -edited-

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Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, Guthlaf, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whomever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

****

A/N I: This one was thought up during water polo practice and written on a train from San Francisco to Santa Barbara, with a strange boy trying to read it over my shoulder practically the entire time. I apologize, then, if it has suffered from these influences. This is my longest chapter yet, so… read on.

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6/20/02- A/N II: Having recently read King of the Mark by Alon (excellent story, by the way), I was surprised to observe that our stories had taken an unusually similar turn in the sense that Loth was sent off for "princess-training" of a sort. Wanting to avoid any kind of overlap, I took it on myself to edit this and keep them different. This chapter's not much changed, except now Lothiriel is not sent away for training, she's just plain exiled from her country. *grin* How I love Dol Amrothian disciplinaries.

***

Chapter 6- The Decision

Eomer of Rohan's breath caught in his throat. Who was _this_? He had never seen anything like her. Brown eyes met gray, and he could have died happily right then and there. Surely she wasn't a commoner. If it was known that the women of Dol Amroth looked like this…

Guthlaf's voice interrupted his thought. "Lord," he was explaining, "this is Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, the prince's daughter."

Ah. A princess. Of course. It seemed fitting, somehow. Eomer bowed, instantly regretting it as it meant they had to break eye contact. But by the time he had straightened up, she'd changed. It was hard to describe. Before, he had been looking into the face of a beautiful woman, and her expression was almost shy, but steady as she looked him over and seemed to like what she saw.

Now her chin was lifted defiantly and her eyes were neither shy nor vulnerable. Her glance now might have frozen him, had he been less dauntless. She was still beautiful, but she had set herself up behind a wall- strong, secure and cold inside the fortress of her mind. Eomer fought the urge to take a step back in alarm.

Guthlaf had apparently noticed the change, too. He was looking at Lothiriel with the troubled, resigned and, at the same time, exasperated expression of a man who knows what is about to happen and likes it not.

"Loth," he said with a small sigh, "this is Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark and the nephew of my king."

Lothiriel reluctantly extended her hand, intending for him to shake it. Eomer knew this full well, but a spirit of mischief suddenly seized him. He took her white hand and bent over it, gently touching his lips to her knuckles. Loth involuntarily made a noise in her throat and snatched her hand back. They stood there for a moment, the princess glaring in surprised indignation, the Rohorrim lord trying not to laugh, and the messenger looking between them as if highly amused at something. Then as if on cue, they each began talking at once.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Eomer, we need-"

"Don't think you can just-"

Guthlaf held out his hands, palms outward. "I'll make this short. Loth, calm down, you're turning nearly purple. Eomer, we need a favor."

The man was still holding back laughter, Lothiriel noted in annoyance. Large oaf. No one was that tall, anyway.

"Anything, old friend."

Oh, who was he _kidding_? Since when were the lords of the Rohorrim so friendly with their subordinates? Guthlaf was special, of course. But no one was supposed to notice that but _her._

"You see, Loth and I were gone last night, and she needs to get back to her quarters without anyone noticing she didn't return. We were going to slip in the side way, but if her father comes out to greet you we'll be seen and milady here is going to catch fire, if you understand me. We would be rather obliged if you would wait a few minutes until she's back safely in her room, and no one's the wiser." Guthlaf explained hurriedly, glancing back towards the castle as if he expected the prince to come charging out any second.

Eomer was surprised. This 'friendship' must have been deeper than he'd thought. They had been together last night? He felt an odd emotion wash over him- resentment and a bit of jealousy. Not that he had any right to jealousy! 'You looked the girl in the eyes for five seconds, Eomer, it doesn't mean she's there for the taking!' he told himself. "Certainly," he said aloud, keeping his voice neutral. "I'll watch you go in, then wait ten minutes and ride up to the gate."

Loth was surprised and a little gratified. With the evil disposition she'd already convinced herself he possessed, he should have refused. "My thanks, lord," said Guthlaf with a grin, as he grabbed Lothiriel's hand and pulled her toward the path they had left. Loth glanced back to find Eomer's eyes on her. He actually had the audacity to wink.

Oh, that clout. She would soon settle _him_.

Eomer watched them go in the faint morning light, rather regretfully. Wonderful. He found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, then managed to make her hate him, and then found out she was involved with his old friend. And he hadn't even seen Prince Imrahil yet.

***

"Shh!" Lothiriel hissed as Guthlaf stumbled on the stairs, letting out a muffled curse. "Don't wake anyone. It's dawn already, they'll be awake soon enough as it is."

"Apologies, milady," he grinned up at her. She could never be angry at Guth.

They took the rest of the stairs two at a time, then crept along the corridor to her door. "Thank you, Guthlaf." said the princess, heaving a sigh of relief as she pushed open the door. "I'll let you out the window and you can climb…" she trailed off.

Prince Imrahil was seated in her room, waiting.

***

"…And as if that's not enough for me to worry about, I go to talk to my daughter in the middle of the night only to find her chamber empty, and the maid telling me that she was headed off into the woods with a messenger boy!" Imrahil paced the floor in front of them. Loth was standing, her head up, Guthlaf behind and to the left of her. "And you, Lothiriel!" he said, whirling and pointing at her. "I'm trying to have you trained to rule this country. You are my only heir. You should know better than to get tangled up with this child! I can't even tell you how angry I am. When you need sleep and training, you're off in the woods, FOOLING AROUND WITH A SOLDIER!!!"

Guthlaf stepped in front of Lothiriel protectively. Not that she needed protecting- her eyes were flashing very dangerously. Almost anyone but her father would have been running for cover, had she been looking at them like that. It was as if she was trying to throw daggers with her gaze. Guth addressed the prince.

"If you'll listen to me, Your Highness, I believe I could explain-"

"THERE WILL BE NO EXPLAINING!" thundered Imrahil. In a deadly calm voice, he informed her, "I hardly know what to do with you. You need to learn what is done and not done, as a future ruler of Dol Amroth."

"I am sick and TIRED-" Lothiriel began. Guthlaf cut her off before she could continue and land herself in deeper trouble.

"Your highness. Sir. Listen to me. This is not what it looks like. Lothiriel and I went for a walk. We went too far and didn't notice when it got dark. It was too long of a walk to make in the darkness, so we had to camp in the woods. We set out early this morning, intending to be back before anyone awoke. Obviously, we didn't succeed, but here we are. I can assure you, sir, we did nothing wrong."

"A likely story," sneered the prince. "Sneaking back in here at first light? Walking off arm in arm? You have not acted innocently."

"We tried to cover it up because we knew you'd do exactly this!" interrupted Lothiriel hotly. "We knew that you would jump to just these conclusions. And you are wrong, _sir._ We have done nothing."

Guthlaf nodded his agreement.

The prince stared at them both. As difficult as his daughter could be, he had never taken her for a liar. The story was unlikely, but not impossible. Perhaps they were not guilty, after all.

"I will consider what you have said," he told them levelly. "But the fact remains, daughter, you are seriously out of line. I may have to take drastic measures with you, if you're ever to learn humility. Perhaps-"

He was not allowed to continue. At that moment a maid knocked on the door, curtsying and informing them that one Eomer of Rohan had arrived and wished to speak with the prince.

***

An hour later, Lothiriel was summoned to her father's hall. Guthlaf was not, but he chose to come along anyway. The two wanted to spend as much time as they could together before Guth left later that day. And he was determined to know if she would be punished.

They entered the hall to see her father and some of his advisors seated at one end. Eomer was there, too, standing to the side and looking oh so smug. She fought the urge to slap the smile off his face. Guthlaf stood at the door unnoticed as she made her way forward.

"Lothiriel."

"Your Highness."

Prince Imrahil grimaced at her icy tone, but continued. "We have been discussing what is to be done with you. Although I may have been- ahem!- mistaken earlier, I am still of the opinion that you need to be taught a lesson. In any case, your behavior has become intolerable and unfit for this castle."

Lothiriel had not been expecting this. A small hope rose in her mind. Was he going to send her back to Lothlorien? 

"Prince Eomer has agreed to escort you…"

He _was_ sending her back!

"…to Edoras, the halls of King Theoden. Maybe after a period of time there, you will return with a better sense of dignity and propriety."

He was exiling her.

She paused and waited for this to sink in.

He was exiling her to Rohan with _Eomer._ The man she had already taken a disliking to. Oh, that _smile_! Was he taking pleasure in her distress?

"I'm sure they don't want to be bothered. Things are so troubled already. The war-"

"The war is further off than you seem to think, daughter."

"And, milady," Eomer added, "we would be honored to have you at Edoras, no matter why you were sent."

Lothiriel glanced at him. He _was_ taking pleasure in this. 

Guthlaf could hardly contain his glee. She was coming home with them!

Lothiriel groaned. "How long will this trip take?"

"Fourteen or fifteen days."

"And we leave…?"

"In three hours."

Lothiriel pivoted on her heel and stormed from the hall. "Farewell, _Father._" she muttered. As she passed Guthlaf, he could hear her chanting something under her breath. "_Nathon thalion, nathon thalion…_" she was repeating to herself as her footsteps receded down the corridor. 

"It's done, then." The prince sighed heavily.

Eomer caught up with Guthlaf, both of them hiding smiles.

This trip promised to be very interesting.


	7. The Departure

****

Disclaimer: I don't own Prince Imrahil, Eomer, Legolas, Aragorn, Guthlaf, or any other character from Lord of the Rings that may come into this story. I don't even own Lothiriel. See The Return of the King, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, Third Line, Eomer Eadig for information on her. Everything belongs to JRR Tolkien or whomever he sold it to. Too bad, isn't it?

****

A/N: So sorry I haven't posted this earlier… . FF.net is *JUST* now letting me log in. *growls* 

***

Chapter 7- The Departure

Eomer and Guthlaf were already packed, so while they waited for Lothiriel they spent their time talking about her. Eomer wanted to know everything about the princess- her favorite color, food, the way she liked her tea, and so on. If Guthlaf was wondering why his friend was so intent to know about her, he didn't ask, but the marshal detected faint amusement in his eyes all during their conversation. That is, until the talk turned to another subject- Loth's attitude.

"Was it just me? Or does she glare at everyone like that?" Eomer wanted to know.

Guthlaf let out a breath and steepled his fingers under his chin. "Eomer, you have to understand something about her. She thinks she has to keep everyone at arm's length, I'm not sure why. I think she's just afraid of being hurt. See, there have been only a few people that she's ever gotten close to. One is dead, another she hates, another she left behind four years ago and hasn't seen since..."

"She doesn't exactly seem to hold _you_ at arm's length," grumbled Eomer.

"She did at first." Guth laughed a little. "It was months and months before we got to know each other at all."

"So there is hope for me?" Eomer silently cursed his tongue. How could he have forgotten? She was with Guthlaf. There _was_ no hope for him. "I'm sorry, Guth, I forgot…"

"Forgot what?" asked the messenger, puzzled.

"Forgot that you… and her… you're…" Eomer stopped as Guthlaf shook his head and roared with laughter. "You're not?"

"Of course not! Me and Loth?" Guth said incredulously. "I love her, Eomer, but I love her like a sister. I feel the same way about Lothiriel as you do about Eowyn."

Eomer grinned in secret relief. He hadn't wanted to admit how much he disliked the thought of Guthlaf being intimate with the beautiful, cold girl that he wanted to know better. He turned the subject back. "Then how did you two become friends?"

"I followed her once when she went out on her horse. At that time, I'll admit I _was_ attracted to her- that's why I persisted in bothering her when she didn't want me around. There was a storm, we got lost… she was trying not to show fright and I was doing the same. To pass the time while we waited out the rain, I got her to talk to me. From there, we exchanged life stories, talked all night and found our way back home the next day. Prince Imrahil never trusted her with me again, but we've become fast friends. I'd never desert her, and she worries for me all the time. Not until lately, though, has there been good reason for her to. Eomer, what's your opinion on the War?"

"Sorry, what?" Distracted, Eomer was looking away. Guthlaf turned to see what occupied his friend's attention and grinned as Lothiriel entered the hall, looking as beautiful and aloof as always. Eomer leapt to his feet, Guth walked over to the princess.

"I know you don't want to go to Edoras, but I'm glad you're coming with us, lass." he told her in a low voice as she hugged him around the neck. "And I don't want to leave, but at least you'll be with me," she answered with a smile. Eomer sighed. If he didn't know better, he'd swear they acted like they were engaged. He coughed to get her attention.

"We're ready if you are, milady," he said with what he hoped was a winning smile. She only frowned at him and walked past. 'Ouch,' he thought. 

He and Guth followed her into the courtyard, where her father was waiting with her horse. "I am ready," she informed him in a steely tone. Her father looked pained. Her father _always_ looked pained in her presence, actually, thought Eomer. Then Imrahil glanced pointedly at him and Guth. "If you would wait before the gate, sirs, my daughter will be with you in a moment. I'd like a moment alone with her first, if you don't mind."

Nodding silently, Eomer and Guthlaf brought their horses around and rode out the gate. Looking back, the marshal saw her gazing at him with something like pensiveness, though she quickly turned back to her father.

***

Prince Imrahil sat on the seat of a fountain and waved a hand, indicating that Lothiriel should sit too. She made no movement, and he sighed. This was what he expected, but it hurt him nonetheless that she detested him so.

"Lothiriel, I am truly sorry. But you know this is for your own good, and the good of Dol Amroth."

She would have none of it. "I disagree, _Father. _This is for your good alone. I suppose I'm easily gotten rid of, and I shouldn't be surprised. You sent me away once before. Will it be fifteen years before you call for me this time?"

He winced. "No, no, of course not."

"Too bad. I enjoyed Lothlorien."

"Why do you make this so hard for me?"

"Because you killed my mother."

Imrahil completely deflated. He held his face in his hands for a moment, too weak to look her in the eye. He could never talk to his daughter for more than a few minutes. It was too painful, she was so harsh. 'Nothing like Miriel,' he thought. Or maybe the resemblance was buried too deeply, and he would never see it. In any case, he couldn't speak for a moment. Finally, he looked up. Lothiriel almost pitied him- he looked so tired. 

"I'm sorry. Just take this and go. I'll send for you in a few months, or a year, I don't know. I can't talk to you now. Just go." He handed her a folded letter and walked quickly away, head bent.

Narrowing her eyes and hardening her heart, Lothiriel slipped the letter into the folds of her dress and led her horse out to the gate. All her baggage was loaded already. It was time to leave Dol Amroth.

***

They had gone for about six hours in silence, concentrating on their horses and the landscape rather than each other. Loth didn't know the way, but she refused to ride behind the men. The companions' horses trotted side by side, seeming in no particular hurry. An ignorant onlooker would have supposed them to be just three friends on a picnic or some idle venture. 

The day was drawing to a close. Eomer gauged the distance from the sun to the horizon, estimating that there would be only another hour or so of light. "We'll stop here," he said, jolting the others out of their thoughts. 

They surveyed the camping spot. It was a few meters off the path, with sheltering trees and a stream not far off. An ideal place to stay the night. Eomer dismounted and offered Lothiriel his hand, but shooting a withering glance at him she easily got down herself. Guthlaf just shook his head. 

They unloaded and set up two tents. Lothiriel went for water, Guth for firewood, and Eomer to tend to the horses. After the fire had been built and a simple meal was being eaten, the men started a conversation in the hope of drawing the princess out. This proved hard, as she would only answer Eomer in short, clipped sentences, apparently determined not to let go of her grudge. They eventually gave up on her and turned in. When Lothiriel went to refill her water skin, Guth stopped Eomer and said in a low voice, "It's only the first day, friend. Give her time. She'll come around if you make her."

"Thanks," Eomer said wryly, "but at this rate we'll be at Edoras before she'll even say a full sentence to me."

"Yes, she does seem to have taken a particular disliking to you, doesn't she? Well… I'll take first watch and wake you in a couple of hours."

Not much comforted, Eomer was about to enter his tent when he saw a cluster of tall white flowers growing nearby. Acting on a sudden idea, he picked some and went after Lothiriel. He found her returning from the stream.

"Here," he said, suddenly feeling very foolish. "I saw these and… I know you like flowers so… ah… these are for you."

She stared at him. "How did you know that? …no, wait. Guthlaf, right?"

He nodded and she didn't seem surprised, but now looked inclined to laugh.

"Well, lord, that's kind of you, but I'd rather not take _these_ flowers."

"Why not?"

She picked up a white blossom and studied it. "Monkshood. Poisonous." She replaced it and went to her tent, trying hard to hold her laughter. 

Eomer, now alone, dropped the lot in surprise. "Oh… I get it." he muttered, seeing the thick rash on his arms. 

***

Lothiriel found it hard to sleep that night. She tossed for a while, then her thoughts turned to the day's events. "It's hard to believe that so much happened in so few hours," she mused to herself, not even realizing she had spoken aloud. And Eomer! Bringing her poisonous flowers! She had to laugh then, but it had been a nice gesture. He didn't know. 

Maybe this Eorling wasn't so bad.

(Kezya, is that better? lol thanks for the info and tipoffs ;) )


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